"Originality is nothing more than judicious imitation."
--VOLTAIRE.
Next morning when the company appeared they were not a little surprised
to find themselves far out to sea. The day was bright and all hands were
in a cheerful mood. The first question asked of the energetic manager
was "Where next?" He turned toward the inquirer and replied he never
discussed business on an empty stomach when he had the opportunity of
doing so on a full one.
"Lay her course south by east, cap," was his brief order to the sailing
master. "Rather fancy we'll run in somewhere near Oyster Bay--where,
I'll tell you later on."
When breakfast was served ample justice was done to the repast. Here, be
it said, the company lived well. The best the market afforded was not
too good for them. Handy was as capable a judge of a beefsteak as any
man on the boards, and he bought the best. His companions knew it, and
were willing at all times to go with a commission to the shop.
"Were you ever in the market, governor?" inquired the Little 'Un at the
close of the meal.
"Yes, sir. I have frequently been in the market," was the prompt reply,
"but like many other willing and anxious individuals somehow or other,
no one ever reached my price."
"Oh, I didn't mean that, old man. I simply meant were you ever employed
in a meat market, for that was as nice a piece of steak as I ever
tackled, it was so tender and juicy. Unless a fellow was a judge he
never could have picked out such a choice cut."
"Oh, I did not quite comprehend you! I now catch on. Well, you all, of
course, know that I served in the army and----"
"I told you," whispered Smith, in a humorous aside, "he was a butcher."
"And, as I was about to remark, I had much experience in the
commissariat depart----"
"Say," interposed the Little 'Un, who had frequently been an unwilling
and tired listener to very many of Handy's well-worn war stories, "are
you agoing to ring in a war story on us, old pard?"
"Well, I was merely about to explain that in keeping with my army
experience that----"
"Nuff sed," remarked the dwarf, rising from his seat. "Good morning!"
"Some other morning" echoed Smith, and he too rose from his seat.
"Me, too. Ta ta! Tra la la!" lilted the light comedy man, as he pushed
his empty plate to one side, and one by one the remainder of the
Pleiades rose in solemn silence before Handy had time to realize that
his war stories were away below par among the members of his company.
Handy remained alone for some time below, probably turning over in his
mind the problem of the next venture, and then went on deck. He found
his companions taking things easy in free and easy positions aft. It was
a forenoon to satisfy every desire of those who love the open air. The
wind was light--a nice sailing breeze--and the sun was not too warm. Few
words were spoken, save inconsequent remarks now and then on some
passing sail. The monotony of the situation was finally broken by the
manager, as he proceeded to unburden himself of his intentions for the
next entertainment.
"Our next move will be to play Saturday night, that is, to-morrow, in
one of these little towns near by on the Long Island shore, and with
that performance bring our tour to a close, return to the city, get a
few more good people and lay out a new route. We have done fairly well,
all things considered, on this trip, and we can afford to strengthen our
organization and give the public something better, if not stronger. The
pieces we have been presenting are rather ancient,--almost too
classic,--though I must admit we offered them in a somewhat original
manner. We must, however, keep pace with the times--be up to date. The
simple life is all very fine in books, but, my friends, 'tis the
strenuous life that produces the stuff. Excuse slang, but it is much
employed nowadays, and vigorous emphasis is used even by the most
refined. If we don't get new attractions I am afraid we may have to
resort to giving away souvenirs. Souvenirs have, in their day, had all
the potency of a bargain counter in a popular department store well
advertised. Personally, I do not take kindly to the souvenir business.
It isn't professional."
"That's all right," conceded Smith, "but an old piece frequently becomes
new when you subject it to unique treatment. Now, for example, I don't
think anyone has any kick coming at the original manner in which we gave
'Uncle Tom's Cabin' and 'Humpty Dumpty.' No one ever saw them so
presented before. Of course, if we had one of these modern Shakespeares,
that the commercial managers keep on tap, we could have a piece written
for us while we were under way to the next night stand. But that's out
of the question. I would like, in common with the rest of the push, to
know what is going to be our next offering."
"Let me see. Just a moment's pause," replied Handy thoughtfully. "We
might do a bit of a tragedy if we had the props, but we haven't got
them. Besides, the trouble with most tragedies, as a rule, is the long
cast, and in addition they do not give a compact all-star organization
such as ours a chance to show what we really can do. We gave them our
version of _Uncle Tom_ nearly two weeks ago; and outside of Brooklyn, I
conscientiously believe that once a year is often enough for the
remainder of Long Island. On mature consideration, therefore, I have
come to the conclusion that our best offering would be a minstrel grand
opera concert entertainment. We have made an impression in that
direction, and I am in favor of that which will sustain the reputation
we have so admirably earned."
"Who's going to sing the solos, old man?" asked the Little 'Un. "You
know, boss, the boys ain't much on the sing. They can work along all
right with a good strong chorus when they once get started and warmed
up, but when it comes down to the fine single throat work I am afraid
we'll get in the soup."
"He's dead right," put in Smith, "the single singing--solos, I believe
they call them--in the first part will be a hard nut to crack. We can't
give a minstrel show without a first part. They'd never believe we were
operatic minstrels without it, even if we didn't black up."
"Hold! Enough!" cried Handy, in his favorite Macbeth voice. "You make me
a bit tired with this kind of baby talk. Haven't you fellows got common
sense enough to know that it is not absolutely necessary to have a voice
to be a singer? Suppose a singer once had a voice and lost it, would
that be a good and sufficient reason for him or her to get out of the
business? How many of them do it, eh? It is just the same with the
singing trade as it is in our overcrowded profession. How many of the
so-called actors that inundate the stage quit the boards when they
know--if they know anything--they have no talent for it. You fellows
give me a pain. Voices and singing! Pshaw! I'll fix all that! I'll give
a couple of you good high-sounding Eyetalian names, and I'll announce
you as hailing from the Royal Imperial Conservatory of Stockholm, and
I'd like to see the Long Island jay that will say you couldn't sing,
even if you had as little music in your voice as the acrobatic star of a
comic opera company."
"And now will you be good?" playfully chirruped in Smith.
"Now, Nibsy, you will have to tackle a solo; and as you are to be
announced as a foreigner, you must treat your audience to something
different from anything they have heard before. As you will sing it, of
course, none of those present, with, possibly, the exceptions of a few,
will undertake to understand what you are driving at. A few will pretend
they do--there are know-alls in every audience; the majority will take
their cue from them, and that will settle the matter."
"I tumble. But might I ask if you have any choice in the operatic
selection."
"No; none in particular, only that you must avoid any of the very
familiar airs from 'Faust,' 'Trovatore,' or 'Lohengrin.' These great
works have been so hackneyed by frequent repetitions at the Metropolitan
Opera House and Hammerstein's, and Sunday sacred concerts, that they
have been worn threadbare and become as commonplace as 'Mr. Dooley' or
'Harrigan.' Now let me think. Ah, yes! Have you heard that comparatively
new opera by Punch and Ella called 'Golcondo?'"
"Search me. No."
"Well, then, I don't think the audience have either," replied Handy, "so
your first solo will be from that delightful composition!"
"And for the encore, what?"
"The last part over again, if you can remember it, and we'll help you
out in the chorus."
"Say, can't you let me know the name I am going to honor? And, by the
way, there's one thing more I wish to be enlightened on. Will it be
necessary for me to speak with a foreign accent before the show, in case
I come across any of the inhabitants of the town before I go on?"
"Oh, no! That is not absolutely necessary. Don't you know that many of
the Eyetalian opera singers in these days are Irish, some are English, a
big bunch are Dutch, Poles or Scandinavians, and quite a sprinkling of
them Americans. No, it isn't essential to use the accent in private. You
will be announced as Signor Nibsinsky!"
"Is that an Eyetalian name?"
"Oh, Nibs, don't be so specific. Nibsinsky is as valid a name as any
artist might select to adopt. I give it the Russian smack because of my
Russian proclivities."
"Say no more, old man. Let it go at that."
"So far as the chorus is concerned, we know where we stand and what we
can do--and the audience will before the show is over. As for jokes and
funny business--they are easy. But, say, we ought to ring in a couple of
instrumental solos. The banjo, of course, will do for one. It is new,
because it is very old. So that's all right. For the other--now, let me
think. By Jove, I've struck it! Little 'Un, you can do a violin solo in
great shape."
"What! Me do a violin solo," answered the dwarf. "Why, you know very
well I can only play a little bit, and only in an amateur way. Oh, no!
Oh, no! Not this trip."
"Easy there, my festive fiddler. Easy there, and loan me your ear. I'll
arrange that all right. You will be announced as a pupil of the great
Ysaye, and of course, being a pupil of that wonderful magician of the
violin, you must start in with a classical selection from one of those
old masters. Which of them there's no use wasting time over. They won't
be recognized. Then when it comes for you to get in your classic work,
all you've got to do is to play as crazy as you can, bend your body, hug
your fiddle, make your bow saw wood over the strings, look at times as
if you were going into a trance or a fit, do any blame thing that may
appear eccentric--for that, you know, is one of the characteristics of
genius and originality--and you'll catch the crowd every time."
"But, say, Handy, what about the wig?"
"Oh, that's all serene. We've got it. You don't for a moment imagine I
would have you go on as a star fiddler without a bushy head of hair! Not
much. As the poet sings--'There's music in the hair.'"
"That settles it. My mind is easier now."
"But that's not all. When you get through with your classical gymnastics
on the instrument, I will come down to the front and announce that you
will kindly give an imitation of an amateur player wrestling with 'Home,
Sweet Home.' There will be your great opportunity. The worse you play it
the more successful you will be, for, don't you see, you will be closer
to nature. I think that will be a great stunt. Don't you, boys?"
They all thought it would be immense; at least, so they said. The Little
'Un himself fairly chuckled with glee at the prospects of being an
amateur virtuoso of the fiddle, even for one night only. The remainder
of the programme was quickly made up. One or two brief sketches and a
rather rough and tumble arrangement for the close, which the
enterprising managers designated as "The Strollers' Melange," completed
the night's entertainment.